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12:05 pm - Monday, May. 14, 2007
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Monday, May 14, 2007

Birthday Eve
Category: Blogging

It's my birthday tomorrow...

I'm taking the day off from work, but don't really know what I'm going to do with myself. I just feel like it's better to be by myself and do whatever, than to go to work, and either be depressed because no one knows it's my birthday, or run around telling everyone it's my birthday, which would be even more sad and pathetic.


Poor, poor, pitiful me.

But my birthday tomorrow actually makes me think about other people's birthdays more than it does my own...I can't really be too bummed out about not getting a lot of birthday acknowledgement--and I'm starting to need/desire it less than I used to--because I never acknowledge anyone's birthday. Not Mark and/or Jane's. Not Margaret Z.'s. Not Cary and/or Kay's. Nobody (I did for a few years with Kevin K.--when I was back in Michigan, we would take each other out to eat on our birthdays, which was always really fun--before it fell by the wayside when I moved out here).

I've wondered about this almost-pathological rudeness on my part. It's especially odd, in the cases I've mentioned, because these are not people I'm indifferent to; to the extent that I'm capable of love, I love these people.

I think I've been stymied by the fact that all those people have more money than I do, know people who have more money than I do, and I've never had any idea what I could get them/have done for them that they couldn't/wouldn't get or have done for themselves. I don't know what they would even want/need. And that being the case, somehow a card or phone call or what-have-you, while at least showing people I'm aware of their "special day", somehow strikes me as being even more lame than just playing the part of lazy/thoughtless/self-centered guy, and leaving it at that.

It doesn't really make a lot of sense, unless you look at the way I've lived my life in general up to this point--I can't do it "right", whatever-it-is, so more often than not, I just opt to not do it at all.

What can I say? I'm an idiot.

(A post script: Something else, something lurking underneath this entry, something in the back of my mind that didn't go to the front of my mind till I started to post here, is that I feel awkward and uncomfortable--and sad and pathetic--over wanting to be more part of these people's lives, while knowing I never really will be. And I think that plays out in this situation--Feeling like it doesn't really matter if they get a card or phone call or something from me, because they don't need it. Somehow, it becomes a referendum on how little I'm in people's lives, and how no one really needs me to be. Again, I'm an idiot.)

Currently reading :
The Plot Against America
By Philip Roth
Release date: By 27 September, 2005


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